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“Well,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Why do you do what you do?”
His fingers tapped impatiently against the armrest. “What do you mean?”
“The guns and weapons? Why do you sell them?” I pressed. “Don’t you think it’s wrong? They could be used on innocent people.”
“It’s more complicated than you realize, princess.” His tone was guarded and his eyes wary. I knew the Espositos were a mafia family, although they were constantly plastered across newspapers for donating to hospitals and charity organizations so to the outside world they looked like a normal rich family. I knew there was a complex web of control being operated from behind the smiling photos and champagne dinners. However, I still had no idea what exactly they did for the outfit.
“How is selling guns complicated?” I asked, shocked by my own brazenness.
“Because it’s not black and white the way you want to believe it is,” he said.
“How do you know what I believe?” I shot back, annoyed.
“Look, princess,” he said, withdrawing further behind a mask of indifference. “There are a lot of moving parts that you don’t understand. And none of the outfit’s men involve their women in matters of business, so don’t think I’ll make an exception for you.”
“I’m not your woman,” I said, although the thought that he might consider me his excited a small, repressed part of me.
“You are for an exhilarating, all expenses paid week or so,” he said caustically, hitting me with another hard gaze. “Congratulations.”
“What are you to Lucien?” I asked, undeterred. “I can tell he’s in charge, so what does that make you? The second-in-command?”
“No, I didn’t want to be his right hand,” Duran said. “I prefer to have a little more freedom. Lucien spends most of his time chained to his desk, doesn’t have much time even for Olivia. I don’t want to be my brother, as much as I do admire him.”
The car pulled from the curb and headed further into the village. I watched the women move about in flocks, shopping bags slung over their arms, coffees in hand. I’d never had any close female friends, although I did have a few cousins that I’d grown up with, and I found myself wishing silently for that kind of camaraderie. Perhaps then someone might have missed my sudden absence.
Duran tapped the glass and the driver slowed and pulled over outside a shoe store. “Let’s get you something that fits you a little better than Olivia’s sandals,” he said.
He alighted the curb and held out his hand, but I waved it away and climbed from the car onto the sidewalk. The shop was old and looked like something from the middle of London. The windows were framed in rich, dark wood and draped in midnight blue velvet. The door, which Duran pushed aside for me, was heavy oak with stained glass. I had no doubt the shoes sold here cost a fortune.
When the shop assistant greeted us, Duran tapped the counter absently. “Whatever she wants, just put on my tab.”
“Yes, Mr. Esposito,” the man said, ducking his head nervously. “And thank you, sir, for the order last month. We greatly appreciate all the business you and your brother bring to us.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Duran absently.
I decided not to feel guilty about anything I bought. If Duran wanted to throw his money around and pretend I was his mistress or wife, he could do that. It was his choice and so far he hadn’t pushed hard for any kind of reciprocation. So I took my time choosing out a pair of black pumps, some elegant beige heels, sneakers, and strappy sandals. When I was done, he rose from his seat and took my bags while the shop assistant rang up my purchases.
When we got to the car, he opened the box containing my beige heels. “Take your shoes off,” he said.
“I want to wear my sandals,” I said.
“I’m taking you to dinner,” he said. “I think you’d find yourself a little casually dressed otherwise. And, fuck, I want to see your legs in these shoes. So take the sandals off.”
I hesitated and he sighed and knelt down, his hard fingers unlacing the sandals. I let him, my heart racing at the sight of him kneeling in front of me, his dark head bent and his hands working expertly. God, I was dying for him to move his fingers up my calves, part my thighs, run his tongue higher until it slid over my pussy. I shook my head and he caught the movement and smirked.
“You’re thinking dirty things,” he said. “Shame on you.”
My cheeks flushed. “Only because you put the thoughts in my head.”
“What if I were to give you dessert before dinner?” he said.
My resolve was going to break if he didn’t stop gazing up at me with those impossibly dark eyes, his lips parted and his fingers grazing my skin. I clenched my fist, my nails digging into the soft skin of my palm, and shook my head.
“Not even just one taste?” he murmured, bending his head.
He lifted my calf to his mouth, his lips just brushing me, and kissed gently up to the delicate skin behind my knee. A shiver went through my body, heat blossoming between my thighs, and my nipples grew hard. His tongue pressed, wet and hot, against my thigh, traveling upward until he was just beneath the hem of my dress. God, I wanted him to go higher, so damn much. I wanted him to push his face between my legs and eat me until I came against his perfect mouth.
“I think you could use a taste,” he said, his voice thick. He was losing restraint.
